“You push me, Spike.”
“You push and you pull and you ask and ask until there is nothing left for me but to take you. Hurt you. Fuck you until you bleed.”
A hard shudder under Angel’s hands, flash of game-face. Teeth elongated, brow ridged, yellow eyes that see in the dark. Taste of Spike on his lips, on tongue as it dances over his own sharp teeth. As his lips pull back from deadly blades. Leather and sweat. Blood of his children. Drusilla. Spike.
“Don’t play with me, boy.”
“I never have, Angel.”